


Atlantis: The Lost City of Angels

by BaredWolf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Atlantis: The Lost Empire, Alternate Universe - Disney, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Human, Atlantis, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2017-12-23 01:31:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BaredWolf/pseuds/BaredWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Dean/Castiel AU based on Disney's Atlantis: The Lost Empire. </p><p>Adventurer and academic Dean Winchester has spent most of his life searching for the lost city of Atlantis. When a mysterious stranger helps him find it, however, he gets more than he ever bargained for. Dean meets Castiel and soon realizes he is falling for him, but the city is in more danger than they ever imagined. Can Dean save Atlantis without losing Castiel in the process?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

> “...in a single day and night of misfortune, the island of Atlantis disappeared into the depths of the sea.” -- Plato, 360 B.C. 

It was finally The Day, the day he fulfilled his legacy and got his project funded. The day that Dean Winchester, academic and explorer extraordinaire and son of the late renowned archeologist John Winchester, took his first step on the road to the lost City of Angels. The city was commonly called Atlantis, translated from Ancient Greek as island of Atlas, but Dean’s research indicated that in the local dialect, the translation was closer to City of Angels. He explained this fact to his audience. 

“Atlantis possessed technology millennia ahead of its time,” Dean continued. “Including a power source, referred to as the Heart, which contemporary sources indicate far surpasses the capability of any modern means of energy production. If we can locate the power source and bring it back to the surface, we could change the world.” He paused for effect. “All we need, then, is a way to find it.” Dean grinned at his audience. "And as you can see on this map, here," Dean gestured with a flourish to the intricately drawn map on his chalkboard, "I believe the Hunter's Journal, which contains a route to the lost City, will be found right here, in Iceland." He paused, giving his audience time to absorb this grand pronouncement, the climax of his research and presentation, when suddenly the phone rang. Its brash tones reverberated around the boiler room as Dean scrambled to answer it. 

“Cartography and linguistics,” he answered. “Marv! Hey -” The voice on the other end cut him off, ranting briefly as Dean nodded, scrubbing a hand over his face. 

"Yeah, yeah, okay," answered Dean, trying not to grumble but irritated by the interruption. He walked over to the hulking boiler as he rolled up his shirt sleeves, fiddled with a few controls, and gave it a good whack with a wrench. The thing sputtered and coughed but then kicked on. He grabbed the phone again, smearing grease from the wrench over the receiver. "Better?" the voice ranted some more, less irritated now. "Great," he said, hanging up the phone. “It’s 1914, you’d think they could get one of these things from the current century,” he muttered to himself. He wiped his greasy hands on a rag as he walked back over to his chalkboard to resume his presentation. 

"Where was I? Right, Iceland." He tapped the map with a finger. "I believe the journal will be found here." A buzzing noise interrupted him again, and he flipped on the overhead lights as he made his way to the mail tube. His audience remained seated, the collection of inanimate objects indifferent to the interrupted presentation. 

Dean extracted the carrier tube and removed a rolled up piece of paper. "Mr. Winchester, this notice is to inform you that the time of your board hearing has been moved from 4 pm to...THREE THIRTY!" Dean shouted, glancing at the clock, which currently read three thirty-two. He had no time to further express his indignation, however, as a second carrier dropped down the tube, bearing another message from the board, "due to your absence, your proposal has been DENIED?" Dean was furious, flinging the paper towards the boiler. In his rage, he failed to crumple the paper first, however, and so it floated back towards him in a taunting manner as it drifted towards the ground. "No," he growled, rushing over to the chalkboard, nimbly vaulting over a table that stood in his way, and grabbing an armload of papers. He snatched up his jacket and satchel next to the stairs. As he reached the door at the top of the stairs, the phone rang again shrilly. "NOT NOW," he bellowed, flinging the door open and sprinting towards the museum's main staircase. 

He took the stairs two at a time up to the third floor, leather soled shoes sliding on the marble floors as he rounded a corner, just in time to see the board emerging from the meeting room. 

"Wait!" he shouted, turning their heads. "I'm here! I'm ready, we can still do this!" The board members scattered like startled birds, shoving and scrabbling in a truly undignified manner as they each attempted to hide from him so they wouldn't have to be the one to explain. _Cowards_ , Dean thought, pissed that they weren't even going to pretend give him a fair shot this year. Five years of trying to get funding for his project, and they wouldn't even give him five minutes to explain. He stalked down the hall, anger smoothing his movements into something vaguely predatory, the board member stuck in front of the rest of the group seemingly frozen to the spot. 

"Mr. Winchester, your proposal has been denied."

"I haven't presented my proposal. You didn't give me a chance to present, Mr. Arlo, which is wrong and you know it." Dean’s voice was low, with a dangerous tension echoed in the set of his shoulders. 

"Mr. Winchester, this museum funds scientific expeditions based on fact. The board has more important things to do than listen to another of your farfetched theories about some lost city of mythic beings."

"Angels. And they aren't a myth, they're humans lost to history. I have the translations, right here, if you'd just let me show you..."

"Mr. Winchester, we have another meeting to attend." Arlo puffed out his chest, trying to regain the dominant ground despite the fact that he was a good six inches shorter than Dean, but the effect of his puffing was more a rounding of his potbelly than intimidation. 

"I know where the journal is. I can do this, I can find it, and that power source will be the biggest archeological find in the history of humanity. It will revolutionized modern technology, and this museum can take credit for it, Arlo! It would be the best decision you ever made, just fund my project." 

"Mr. Winchester," Arlo said, speaking softer now as his colleagues had disappeared one by one and he was suddenly left alone in the cavernous hallway facing down an enraged Dean, "no. Not this year, not any year. I'm sorry." Arlo wasn’t really that sorry, but he wasn't all that confident in his chances of escaping this encounter with his nose unbroken unless he apologized. 

"Bullshit," Dean snarled, and Arlo recalculated his chances, dropping them significantly. "Fund me or accept my letter of resignation." He shoved a piece of paper at Arlo. "I'm the only ancient linguistics expert you've got, and you need me." Rather less aggressively, Dean added "and no one else knows how to run the boiler in this place." Arlo refused to accept the paper, only shaking his head sadly as he turned, trying to look more like he was walking away and less like he was fleeing, as Dean burned from the pity in the man's eyes. He dropped the letter, letting the paper flutter to the ground. It skidded across the marble on a low draft, thunking as it collided with a potted plant. 

* * *

Dean walked through the graveyard on his way home, stopping to visit his parents. He dusted a few leaves from the top of their headstone before sitting down and resting his back against it. He often came here to think, playing out conversations in his mind, letting the voices of his parents rise from his memories to comfort and counsel him. Today, though, the words failed to soothe the ache in his chest. Finding the lost city was the dream that had driven him for years, but there was no way he could afford to finance it on his own. This was the kind of thing the museum was supposed to do, damn it! He sighed heavily as he stood, barely aware of his surroundings as he stumbled back to his apartment. 

He pulled the chain on the lamp as he stepped through the door, dropping his satchel heavily before he realized that the lights had not turned on. A shot of adrenaline ran through his veins as he pulled the chain again, the light unresponsive as a peal of thunder rattled the windows: it was storming outside and he was dripping on his rug. He had apparently walked home in the rain, and now the power had gone out. He stepped further inside, letting the door swing shut behind him, as a flash of lightning illuminated a figure sitting in the chair by the window. 

"What the hell?" he startled, reaching for the knife he carried in his pocket. It wasn't a large blade, but years of use and training had rendered it a familiar weight in his hand; he could do some serious damage if he needed to. 

"Hello, Dean," said a sultry voice, another flash of lightning catching on the knife the woman was twirling in her fingers. 

“Who are you? How did you get in here?” Dean had reflexively dropped into a defensive position, knife at the ready. 

“I came down the chimney,” the woman said, voice smoldering as one shoulder of her slinky black dress slipped down. “Ho, ho, ho.” Then, suddenly, she laughed, standing and fixing her dress. "Sorry. I'd love to try to pull off the mysterious femme fatale thing here, but it's just so not me." The lithe blonde woman (girl, really, he wasn't sure she was even in her twenties yet) grinned as she approached him. "I don’t even smoke, and somehow I feel like that’s a requirement, you know? So how about you come with me, because I've got a friend who wants to make you an offer I know you're gonna love. Or should we measure first, figure out who's in charge here?" She held up her knife, nodding towards his. Hers was bigger. 

"Fine," Dean growled. "Are you gonna stab me if I take a second to put on something dry first?" She shook her head, raising her eyebrows in a nonplussed manner. He walked towards his wardrobe, peeling off wet layers as he went. He could still feel her eyes on his back, following his movements across the tiny one-room apartment. If this chick expected him to change in front of her, she could at least show a little common courtesy. "You mind telling me your name?" 

"Call me Jo," she said, meeting his eyes as he glanced over his shoulder. "Hurry up, princess."

"You gonna turn around?" He was not going to strip in front of this Jo, who was still twirling that damned knife. 

"Not a chance," she leered. He tried to ignore her as he peeled off his soaked undershirt and trousers, deciding it was better to suffer the indignity of wet underwear than feel the burn of Jo's eyes on his bare ass. Not that she wasn't cute, because she was definitely cute, but she was easily a decade younger than him and that made him uncomfortable. He pulled on the first dry clothes he grabbed, counting on his simple tastes to avoid any risk of mismatching. 

Jo gave him a cheshire’s grin as he turned back around. 

"Let's go," he muttered, "before I change my mind."

* * *

A car was waiting for them at the curb of his apartment building. It wasn’t clear whether this was a blessing or a curse: on the one hand, it saved them from having to walk however far in the rain. On the other hand, he was now sitting right next to Jo, who had not stopped twirling her knife. 

"You ought to put that thing away, you'll cut yourself." She raised her eyebrows at him, barking out a laugh. 

"Right, Dean, because I don't know how to handle a knife."

Her tone was sufficient to put him off of trying to give the snarky girl any more advice, and instead he looked out the window, paying attention to the route they were driving. Small rain-wetted patches on his underwear seeped through his trousers and into the seat, chilling him. He shivered. The black color of his trousers, fortunately, hid any sign of lingering dampness. Soon, they were passing through houses on the fringes of the city. 

"How far away is this place?" he asked. 

"Not much further," said Jo, not looking at him. He sighed, letting his irritation saturate the exhalation of air, and she turned to him. "Trust me, buddy, you wanna hear what my friend has to say." 

"Will it involve further threats of bodily harm?" he asked, nearly snarling although he was strangely un-frightened. The houses were fewer now, large estates set back behind long tree-lined drives. Whoever this friend was, he would bet they had cash to burn. Jo just laughed, examining the edge of her knife blade in the faint moonlight. The rain had finally let up, or perhaps they had simply out-driven it. 

Finally, they turned through a wrought iron gate, the arch above it monogramed with a curling _H_. Dean could barely see the house as they approached, the lushly green branches of old trees forming a tunnel around the long driveway. They rolled to a stop at a side entrance, the front of the house still not visible, and Jo escorted him inside. 

They stepped into an elevator, and Jo flicked her knife shut, suddenly all business. She straightened Dean's jacket on his shoulders. 

"Stand straight and don’t sit unless she invites you. Address her as Mrs. Harvelle or ma’am. Be polite. If you get pissy, she'll just shoot you." He swatted at her hands, straightening his collar himself. "Trust me when I tell you this is worth your time, Dean," she finished, swinging open the elevator's grate and shoving him out. She closed the grate and waggled her fingers at him as the elevator began to ascend. 

Dean turned to take in the cavernous library, dusty books piled haphazardly along its shelves with archeological artifacts that easily rivaled the museum's collection. In a framed photograph on one of the shelves, he recognized a face. His father, arm slung around the shoulders of another man, the both of them grinning at the camera from next to a pile of dirt-encrusted tools. His father and a colleague, then, another archeologist. Dean searched his memories for stories about this man, from the tales of his father's he had memorized before he had passed away. Before Dean became a cartographer and linguist, chasing the shadows of his father's legacy as a thin tendril to connect him to the man he had lost. 

"That's my husband with your daddy, there, boy." Mrs. Harvelle's voice startled him; he wasn't sure how she had gotten so close to him without him hearing her, but he had been a little absorbed in his own memories. In his own sob story. "Died on a trip a few years before your father...well, we don't need to relive the past." She stuck out her hand, a wry smile on her lips. "Haven't seen you since you were knee high, though, Dean."

"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Harvelle," Dean said, taking Jo's advice on the politeness thing as Mrs. Harvelle attempted to crush his hand in her iron grip. Somehow, he wasn’t at all surprised to see that she wore slacks and not a skirt. She laughed as she let go. 

"Jo tell you to call me that?" His expression was apparently all the confirmation she needed as she laughed again. "Brat. You call me Ellen, and I'll call you Dean. How's that?" she asked, and Dean just nodded, slightly taken aback by her insistence on informality but no less impressed of her formidability. 

"That works for me," he managed, following her over to a grouping of chairs in front of the large fireplace. Ellen gestured for him to sit. The chairs were all different styles, sizes, and colors; the decorating theme seemed to be well-worn but extremely comfortable. Ellen’s library felt homey to Dean, scary as the woman herself could be. Ellen poured them each two fingers of some kind of amber liquor from a sideboard, proffering a glass to Dean as she sat down in a chair next to him. 

"So I hear you're looking for the City of Angels," she said. Dean nodded as smooth whiskey burned down his throat; he was either right about the Harvelles having money, or Ellen was working awfully hard to impress him. "I might be able to help you with that." She picked up a packaged wrapped in brown paper from the low round table in front of them and handed it to Dean. He recognized his father’s handwriting on the front. 

“He wanted me to give this to you,” Ellen said, “when the time was right. I was so mad at him...that, well, that I almost didn’t. But you’re not your daddy, and his mistakes aren’t your fault.” Dean glanced sharply at her, confusion written across his features. “They aren’t,” she insisted, waving her hand at him in encouragement to open the package, “and the time is right, now, anyways.” Dean pulled at the string tying the package shut until it fell open, carefully unfolding the brittle paper to reveal the Hunter’s Journal. He nearly spilled his drink on it in his haste to remove the rest of the wrappings; Ellen snatched the glass from his hand just in time. 

“You had this?” he sputtered, opening the journal carefully and leafing through its pages.  “This whole time, you’ve had this?” The pages were filled with neat lines of writing, carefully drawn diagrams, clues and coordinates that added up to one thing: a route to the City. “Where did they find it?”

“Iceland.”

“I knew it!”

“Your father turned it up on one of his last expeditions before he died,” Ellen explained. “And I know you’re probably torn between needing to translate it before you take your next breath and wanting to slug me for having it for so long without telling you, but I had my reasons.” Dean looked at her doubtfully, loathe to tear his eyes from the text for even a moment. “I’ve got something else to show you.” Ellen set their glasses on the low table and walked over to the book case next to the fireplace. She placed her hand on one of the volumes and pulled, and the book case swung open like a door. “Are you coming?” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel has a dream.

_The sky darkened as the crier’s voice rang out the warning: Take shelter. Castiel grabbed his sister Anna’s hand, tugging to try to get her to run. The sky overhead darkened ominously._

_“Anna, we have to go now!” Anna was fumbling, trying not to drop any of the gifts she had purchased at the market place. They had been out shopping together, picking out gifts for their family in anticipation of the upcoming Founder’s Day celebrations, but the gifts didn’t matter now. Castiel realized that if they didn’t run, they would be swallowed by the wall of water approaching the city. “Drop them, Anna! Come on!” Anna seemed to come to her senses, suddenly, pretty baubles and delicate sugar figurines shattering to the ground as she and Castiel began to run._

_Castiel saw their father, long robe streaming behind him as he ran towards them. “Run, Castiel! Run, Anna!” he cried, as a beam of light tracked over him, widening over his stilled form as his eyes began to glow. Castiel was transfixed as he watched their father drift aloft, the beam drawing him into the Heart, the circlet on his head glowing brightly with a blue energy._

_“Castiel!” Anna cried, tugging at his wrist. They began to run again, towards the shielded portion of the city, ducking under the spreading energy webs as they coalesced into a solid dome around the city’s center, the Heart glowing brightly overhead._

_“Close your eyes,” said Anna, shielding him from the horror on the faces of those who had not made it through the shields in time. She held him tightly as the ground beneath them shuddered and shook, lights flashing as the wave swallowed the world around them._

Castiel woke with a start, drenched in sweat. Dim light filtered in through the windows of his chambers. It had been many years since he dreamed of the Sinking Day, but he knew in his heart what it meant. Something was coming. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean stared, slack jawed with shock. A man could only articulately handle so many dreams coming true at once.

“You’ll never get the museum to fund you,” Ellen said, as she led Dean up a narrow staircase. 

“I have this now, I could convince them,” argued Dean, squinting at the pages of the Hunter’s Journal in the darkened stairwell before Ellen snatched it out of his hands, snapping it shut and pressing a corner against his chest. She was standing two steps above him, barely at eye level, but somehow managing to make him feel small. 

“Dean, you’ve been trying for years. They’ll never believe you.”

“I’ll rent a row boat, if I have to,” he replied, exasperated. “I’ll get there! I have a map now,” he said, stabbing a finger at the journal’s cover. 

“Lucky for you,” Ellen continued as if Dean had not interrupted, a pleased smile lighting up her face, “my husband was as nuts about finding Atlantis as your daddy was, and his will provided funds for an expedition.” Dean stared, slack jawed with shock. A man could only articulately handle so many dreams coming true at once. She pressed the journal flat to his chest and he grabbed it. 

She continued up the stairs, trailing a stunned Dean behind her. 

“Funded it?” Dean asked, a cynical part of himself wondering why it had taken Ellen so long to contact him about it.

“That’s right,” replied Ellen. “It took me a while to get the submarine built, considering it required some cutting edge technology that hadn’t been developed yet when your daddy found that book, but we finally did it.”

“Wait, submarine?” Dean asked. 

“What did I say, boy?” replied Ellen, jovially. “And we’ve got a crew, best of the best, geologists and engineers, a cook and a medic, and someone I think you’ll be happy to see.” She smiled at Dean, turning as they reached a landing, and pushed open the door. The stairwell flooded with light as Dean drew in a sharp breath. “I hope you brought your toothbrush.”

“I did not,” replied Dean, as Jo swung around a corner into view, tossing a duffel in his direction. “Wait, we’re leaving now?” 

“First thing in the morning,” sang Jo, beaming. She was wearing slacks like Ellen’s now, bare feet padding across plush carpeting. “We get to spend the night reviewing maps with our newest resident genius.” She winked at him. 

“What about my job? What about my stuff?” Dean asked, off balanced by the sudden turn of events. “Where are we right now?”

“The war room,” answered Ellen, making her way over to the large oval table covered in maps, which dominated the center of the brightly lit room. Heavy curtains hung closed over the floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides of the room. “And your _stuff_ has been taken care of.”

“You resigned this afternoon,” Jo reminded him, “and we’ve given your apartment notice and put your things into storage. It’s all taken care of.” He weighed the duffel in his hands: most of his clothing, a few books and basic necessities, and when had Jo packed this? “Brought you some dry underwear too,” she smirked, pulling out her knife and twirling it again. 

“Joanna Beth, put that thing away,” Ellen ordered. 

“Sorry, mom,” Jo replied. 

“ _Mom_?” asked Dean. 

“Call me Ellen, Dean,” Ellen replied as Jo flushed hotly. _Friend_ his ass. Now he was triply grateful he hadn’t even considered hitting on Jo. Well, hadn’t seriously considered it, at least, and that had to count for something. He raised his eyebrows at her in an accusatory, knowing look. Jo rolled her eyes at him, then grabbed his wrist and pulled him over towards some kind of torture device in the corner of the room. 

“It’s a scale model of the ship,” Jo explained, seeing the terror in his eyes. Dean immediately schooled his expression. 

“‘course it is.” He poked at one of the models of a smaller vessel, knocking it over. Jo smacked his hands away before he could fix it, righting the model herself. 

“Dean, come look at these maps with me,” called Ellen. “Jo, hadn’t you better pack? We leave at first light.” 

* * *

“All hands to the launch bay.” Ellen’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker, making Dean jump. He hated boats. Hated them. The fact that this was a bigger boat didn’t really make a difference. He wasn’t sure why the problem with this plan hadn’t occurred to him before he was on board, hurling his breakfast into the bay as they set sail for the Atlantic Ocean. But as soon as he was done emptying his stomach, he remembered that he hated open water. Hated that there was a whole world, full of things that would probably love to eat him, lurking beneath the surface of that water. And here he was, bending over the rail, puking up bait and offering his head as a tasty snack to whatever beast could jump high enough. Fucking boats. 

Dean made his way through the bowels of the ship to the launch bay, listening to crew members argue over final preparations as he joined the lines to board the submarine. The view reminded him of watching ants build an anthill. When Jo had said scale model, she hadn’t mentioned the scale. There were several hundred crew boarding, driving trucks laden with supplies up wide ramps as uniformed soldiers filed up gangplanks. Mercenaries, he guessed, given the A insignia they all wore: A for Atlantis. They were actually going to find Atlantis. Dean was so absorbed in observing the preparations that he bumped into the woman in front of him. 

“Easy on the merchandise,” she said, her accent some form of bastardized British. A brief look of surprise flashed across her face as her eyes met Dean’s. 

“Sorry,” he said, picking up the _stick of fucking dynamite_ she had dropped and gingerly handing it back to her. “Uh, so, dynamite?” Not his smoothest opener ever, but she grinned at him as she tucked the stick back into place, fingers tracing lightly along its length. 

“Bela Talbot,” she said, extending a hand as she tucked light brown hair behind her ear with the other, “office supplies.” 

“Really.”

“Also demolitions.” She shrugged. “I guess the office supplies is more of a hobby.” She smiled at him, wide and disingenuous. 

“I see,” said Dean, swallowing, vaguely uncomfortable under her aggressive gaze. “Dean Winchester.” He tried to release her hand, but she tugged it closer to her body.

“So you’re the linguist, huh?” she asked, words dripping in innuendo. Dean recovered himself enough to snatch his hand back. Demolitions, sure, Bela seemed like the kind of woman who trailed destruction in her wake wherever she went. 

“That’s right,” he answered, relieved as he heard Ellen call his name. Bela turned back to her trolly full of explosives as Ellen approached. 

“Dean, I want you to meet Bobby Singer,” Ellen said, “our commander.” She motioned to the bearded older man beside her, who was regarding Dean with a open gaze. “He was on the Iceland expedition with your father, the one that brought the journal back.” 

“Pleasure,” said Bobby, extending a hand. Dean shook it: the man’s grip was firm in a self-confident way, not needing to crush Dean’s hand to prove his power. Dean decided he liked Bobby. “Nice to meet John’s other boy.” 

“Other boy? You know Sam?” asked Dean. 

“‘Course I do,” replied Bobby, looking at Dean like he had two heads. “Anyways, nice to meet you and all, got a ship to launch.” Bobby excused himself, muttering something under his breath as he walked away. 

“Ellen,” Dean said, wanting to grab her attention before she followed after Bobby, “when you said...” He gestured around the launch bay, shaking his head. “I mean, Ellen, wow.” Ellen laughed warmly. 

“Bill believed in your dad, Dean. And if we find a tenth of what we’re expecting to find, I’ve no doubt we’ll recoup every penny of his investment.” She clapped Dean on the shoulder. “Let’s get on board.” Dean followed her up the gangplank and into the submarine. 

* * *

Dean spent his first hour on board the submarine hiding in his bunk and trying to pretend he was somewhere else. The boat had been bad, but he was having serious trouble coping with the submarine. The hive of activity that had distracted him in the launch bay failed to hold his attention once the diving alarm sounded. Even his work couldn't keep him focused. He’d translated the Hunter’s Journal’s pages that told them how to find Atlantis again, going over the same translations and maps he had reviewed with Ellen last night, even though they had everything they needed to get them to the lost city. Useless. He stared at the underside of the bunk above him, unsuccessfully attempting to will his mind to blankness.

His stomach churned at the thought of the submarine being under the ocean, surrounded by crushing dark water on all sides. Dean looked for something, anything to distract himself. He hummed snatches of music to himself but kept losing the thread of the song. He thought of Bela, who was certainly pretty enough but kind of too terrifying to fantasize about. He tried something less specific: maybe one of the soldiers, with their neat uniforms and their muscles. That worked for a bit, until he realized he could feel the vibrations of the submarine’s engines as they accelerated. 

Dean wondered if he could find some whiskey on this boat, drink until he passed out and pray he woke up in Atlantis. Jo hadn’t packed any of his stash in his duffel, the only oversight he’d found so far. (She’d even packed him a small tub of petroleum jelly, tucked into a pile of more handkerchiefs than he’d ever owned in is life, the little jerk.) He was just about to put his boots back on so he could go searching for some booze when someone pounded on the hatch. 

“Wha...” the lump on the bunk above him grumbled, sitting up and materializing into a dark-haired man. “What the bloody hell. Do you know what time it is?” Another British accent. Dean wondered exactly how international this expedition was: that could make things pretty interesting, maybe he’d get to practice a few foreign languages with native speakers. 

“Uh, two in the afternoon,” replied Dean, to which the man again muttered “bloody hell” and flopped back down on his bunk. His suit was starting to look a little rumpled from sleep. The person at the hatch pounded again. “Coming!” Dean shouted, earning him a muffled curse from the bunk. He glared in the man’s general direction as he opened the hatch, staggering suddenly backwards as he was drawn into a tight hug. 

“Sammy?” Dean gasped, hugging his baby brother back, because there was only one person in the world who had the size and audacity to hug him like this. 

“Hey, Dean. Missed you.” Sam’s words were muffled against the side of Dean’s head. It had been over a year since he had seen his brother, because Sam was supposed to be away at medical school. 

“Sammy, hey,” Dean squeezed Sam and thumped him on the back, encouraging Sam to release him from his octopus-like limbs, “what the hell are you doing here, man? I mean, I’m glad to see you, but aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

“Well,” Sam grinned sheepishly, “something better came up. And I’m technically on summer vacation right now, and I put in a notice for next semester, so it’s no problem, really.” Dean grinned and smacked him in the arm. He hoped this trip wouldn’t mess up Sam’s schooling, but it was the trip of a lifetime and he was thrilled to have his brother along. “I mean, we’re going to find Atlantis, yeah?” Sam asked.

“Damn straight,” grinned Dean. “Where are you bunked? What have they got you doing?”

“I’m the medical officer, since apparently almost-doctor was good enough for Ellen, and I’m bunked here,” said Sam, dropping his bag onto the bunk across from Dean’s. 

“Are you two ever going to shut up?” grumbled the man in the top bunk, sitting up and glaring at Sam; apparently they had already met. “Moose, you were bad enough, and now I’m stuck with your brother too?” Sam rolled his eyes. 

“Crowley, this is Dean. He’s our resident Atlantis expert, so don’t piss him off. Dean, this is Crowley. He’s in charge of excavation, since we’ll probably have to do some digging to get into the lost city, so don’t piss him off.” 

“Hey,” said Dean, offering his hand Crowley. Crowley sneered at it, jumping down from the bunk and straightening his rumpled suit.

“Charmed,” he said. “Now bugger off.” He exited through the hatch, nearly barreling over Jo, who still had a hand raised to knock in her surprise. 

“I see you met Crowley,” she said. “And you found your brother! Surprise!” Jo beamed, as if she were somehow responsible for this. Hell, maybe she was. She shoved her hands into the deep pockets of wide legged overalls that hung loosely on her frame. “I, uh, I thought maybe you’d want to see where we are. I could give you the nickel tour of the ship, or we could just go straight for the highlights. There’s an observation bubble at the front of the ship that’s pretty fantastic, and...” she trailed off. Dean realized she was trying to get him alone about the same time that the idea of looking at the crushing water surrounding him hit, so he wasn’t entirely sure where the nauseous twist of his stomach came from. 

“Sammy?” he said, all enthusiasm, practically begging his brother to take the hint and insist on joining them. 

“Yeah, sure, I’ve been stuck treating seasick soldiers since we launched. I’d love to see it.” Sam smiled at Jo, who tried to hide her disappointment behind a bright grin. _Get over it, kid_ , thought Dean, _or this is going to be a long trip_. 

“Well, I brought provisions,” announced Jo, producing a bottle of whiskey with a flourish. The groan that escaped Dean was nearly orgasmic. Jo flushed and turned to lead them to the bubble as Sam punched Dean in the arm. 

“What was that for?” Dean asked, rubbing his arm. His kid brother still hit well. 

“Teasing her, you ass,” hissed Sam. 

* * *

Dean hadn’t been sure he would last ten seconds in the observation bubble, but as soon as the three of them entered he was transfixed. Jo passed around the whiskey as they stretched out on the floor, watching the ocean pass by. It was dark outside, shapes illuminated by the ship’s lights, bioluminescent beings flitting just out of the corners of their sight. Shadows played across the inside of the darkened bubble from the ship’s exterior lights. Time slowed, sped, lost all meaning as the bottle emptied and they lost themselves in the ocean. 

Sam staggered off around dinner time to bribe the cook for a few trays of food they could eat in the bubble. Ellen joined them, giving Jo a stern look when she realized all three of them were still a little drunk, but later she produced two more bottles and a pile of cushions, so they spent the rest of the evening watching the ocean and swapping the wildest true stories they had. By the time they went to bed, Sam was leaning heavily against Dean and neither noticed that Crowley wasn’t in his bunk. 

* * *

Too early the next morning, Ellen’s voice blasted over the loud speaker, calling Dean to the bridge. Sam shoved a few aspirin and a cup of water at him as he rolled blearily out of his bunk, Crowley still snoring above him. He grunted his thanks, shrugging into a warm sweater as a knock sounded at the door. Jo was waiting on the other side, hands full of mugs with jam slathered biscuits balanced on top, which when removed revealed fragrant steaming black coffee: one look at her and Sam was passing her aspirin too. 

“Thanks,” she said, passing Dean and Sam each a mug of coffee. “My mom’s waiting, we’d better go.”

“I’d think she might avoid the loudspeaker after last night,” grumbled Dean. Jo laughed. 

“I’ve never met anyone who could hold their liquor like my mom. Back home, she and my dad ran a bar for a long time before a rich land investor made them an offer they couldn’t refuse. My Dad got into archaeology, my mom learned a few things about investing, and now here we are.”

“Under the ocean in the ship of the future,” said Dean. The more he learned about Ellen, the more he wasn’t sure whether to be terrified of the woman or fall at her feet in worship. Some combination of the two generally appeased gods, now that he thought about it. “How is it that you came to be a mechanic, out of all of that?”

“I just love it,” said Jo. “Machines, they speak to me, you know? And every year there’s something new and more to learn. So when mom started putting this whole expedition together, I made it my job to learn every machine they bought, inside and out. After that, she had to bring me along as mechanic. If she had a million dollars to fund this thing she couldn’t have found someone better.” Jo beamed at Dean. 

Ellen and Bobby were barking orders as Dean and Jo entered the bridge, mounting the stairs to the command platform. 

“Dean! Good morning,” said Ellen, and Dean was certain she was speaking louder than normal just to rub in his hangover. “Bobby’s going over the route with the crew right now, but we need you to give that presentation on our possible obstacles this morning soon. We’re approaching the first set of coordinates.” Dean felt his hangover burning off like early morning fog under the twin suns of caffeine and excitement. 

Crew members came around with trays full of more mugs of coffee as the bustle of the bridge continued about its business. Two or three mugs later, it was Dean’s turn to speak. He explained the myth of the Leviathan, a beast said to guard the entrance to Atlantis. He doubted there was any such beast, ever, and if there once had been he doubted it was still alive. 

“Once we find the Leviathan’s lair, which my current theory is, there’s a sculpture of some kind of nasty, designed to frighten the superstitious, there will be a tunnel we follow. It should emerge into a dry subterranean cavern, where there will be a land road leading us to Atlantis.” 

Jo was nursing her third mug of coffee carefully while everyone else regarded him with bland expressions. This was why he hadn’t lasted as a professor: even when people were listening to him, even when he knew they were invested, literally, in what he was saying, their expressions always looked so _bored_. He met Ellen’s eyes. “Any questions?” 

“So this culture has technology that far exceeds our own, and you think they set up a statue as their outermost layer of defense? Boy, that sounds a little shortsighted to me.” Bobby fixed Dean with a challenging look. 

“Well, even if the Leviathan was real, once, it has literally been thousands of years. And of course there are creatures under the oceans that we don’t know about,” Dean explained as he suppressed a shudder, “but the myth only talks about one creature, not any sort of a breeding population, and the probability of an individual living that long is...well, it’s quite low. And even if there were a breeding population, and there were still an individual or individuals alive, given the size the myth describes these things as being, they would need to move around a huge territory to feed themselves, so the probability of the Leviathan being home, so to speak, would be pretty low.” Bobby hummed, not seeming completely convinced but not arguing either. 

“It is possible,” Jo said, “that we’re talking about some kind of technological trap. Something mechanical or electronic, right? Since these guys were so advanced. Maybe the, uh, contemporary cultures described their technology as a giant beastie because they didn’t understand it.”

“Also possible,” Dean admitted, half terrified at the possibility that she was right and half hoping, because the implications of finding Atlantean technology before they even reached the city...well, were pretty exciting. 

“Great. Thank you, Dean,” said Ellen, when it became clear that no one had anything else to offer. “Now, all of you have jobs to do.” With that, the small assembly was dismissed. 

Dean headed to the observation bubble, wanting to see if he could spot the Leviathan’s lair. They had a good idea of the general area it should be in, but without a specific clue as to what the lair would look like they had resorted to doing a systematic grid search to try and locate it. A man named Ash, who for whatever reason had ripped the sleeves off of his shirt, was in charge of this effort. He was using some kind of sound-reflection system to try to get an idea of the area around them where their lights didn’t reach. It was so dark that their search pattern had to be fairly tight or they risked missing the lair entirely. Ash seemed confident he could find it though, and he had Ellen’s support. So Dean figured he must be pretty good at his job. 

Twenty minutes later, he wished he’d brought something to translate. Or drink. He couldn’t see much in the semi-dark, and certainly nothing that screamed “ancient super-advanced civilization”. He decided to head to the mess, since his stomach was feeling pretty normal now, and see if he could scrounge up something to eat. He swung by his bunk on the way, rousing Sam to come eat with him. They had some catching up to do. 

Half way to the mess, a klaxon alarm suddenly filled the ship as lights began to flash. 

“Attention, attention, all hands to the sub pods for immediate commencement of Phase 3,” Ellen’s voice blasted over the loudspeaker. Dean took off running for the bridge, Sam on his heels, dodging streams of crew and soldiers headed to their assigned mini subs. 

“Ellen,” Dean shouted over the din, “what is it? what did you find?” The ship lurched, suddenly, as an enormous impact thundered along it’s side. Dean scrabbled for a hand hold, missing as he was flung against a bulk head. The world dimmed and the alarms finally stopped sounding. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first meeting.

“Dean? Hey, Dean, wake up.” Dean groaned and tried to swat Sam’s hands away. “Dean, hey, hi.”

“Sammy. What happened?” Dean felt as if someone had clocked him with a frying pan. 

“You hit your head.”

“No shit.”

Sam sighed, good natured irritation borne of relief that his brother seemed to be relatively okay. “The ship was attacked. I carried you to our sub. We’re safe now. Can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?” 

“I can see fine, Sammy, m’head just hurts.” Dean sat up. He seemed to be lying on the ground in a large cave. He had been stripped of his shirt and jacket, just his undershirt remaining, but the cave was warm and he didn’t miss them. 

“It’ll probably do that for a little while, but I need to watch you for signs of...” Sam paused at Dean’s skeptically raised eyebrow, “problems,” he finished, giving Dean a stern look. “I am the medic, Dean.”

“I’m fine, Sammy. What happened? Where are we?” 

“Good, you’re up,” said Bobby, walking over to where Sam and Dean were sitting. Sam helped Dean to his feet, leaving a steadying hand on his arm until Dean jerked it free. 

“What happened?” asked Dean, trying not to sway too obviously. 

“A giant robot fucking robot happened,” replied Bobby. “The Leviathan was apparently a giant robot. It was pretty damaged from, you know, thousands of years with no one to repair it, so it only got in two good strikes before it seemed to just lock up, but it did a fair bit of damage with that. Ash picked it up with his sound waves shortly before it attacked, so we were able to get most of the crew and equipment safely off the ship.” 

“We were practically sitting on top of the lair when it noticed us, and your translations about the tunnel were right. We made it through in the mini subs, although it got pretty narrow, and now we’re here.” Sam waved an arm at the cavern. 

“Huh,” said Dean, rubbing at his aching head as he tried to process this information. “And the road?”

“Is right there,” said Bobby, pointing across the cavern to a cobbled road that lead to an intricately carved bridge. The road disappeared down a tunnel on the far side of the bridge. “We’re making camp here for the night, getting everything patched up before we move out in the morning.” Dean looked around, realizing he was in a makeshift infirmary: two rows of bed rolls laid out on the floor of the cave. A few more unconscious crew members and soldiers, a man with a broken leg: Dean counted himself lucky that he was already back on his feet. A lake filled part of the cavern, their submarines crowding the surface. Trucks were parked along the beach, and the crew milled around between there and the alcove that had been designated as sick bay.

“I’ve had to stitch a few people up,” said Sam, as Bobby walked off, shouting orders at some crew members, “but those that made it off the boat are mostly in decent shape. The most injured will stay behind when we follow the road, along with a detachment of soldiers to maintain the mini subs.” Dean nodded. 

“Can I go to sleep now?” His head had that warm, sleepy feeling that it got after he’d had his bell rung. 

“I want you to eat first,” said Sam. “You were out for a while, and I don’t want you to get dehydrated.” He helped Dean over to the chuck wagon where dinner was being dished out. They ate, sitting on crates and boxes that had been pulled off the subs, with Ellen, Jo, and Ash, who couldn’t stop talking about the giant robot monster and what it might mean about what they would find down the road. Dean was sorry he had missed seeing it.

Later, they lit a candle and set it floating out across the water, for the crew members they had lost, fifty-six in total. Dean’s chest hurt as he wondered if there was something he could have done, could have found out about the Leviathan that would have saved their lives. 

That night, Dean dreamed of scuffling noises and strange figures in the dark. 

* * *

His internal clock told him it was early morning when he snapped awake to the smell of smoke. Dean ducked his head out of his tent to a scene of horror. Flames licked up the canvas sides of tents, spreading quickly through the camp. Bobby and Ellen were shouting, trying to corral people to the waiting line of vehicles along the beach. Dean ducked back into his tent long enough to grab his satchel and the Hunter’s Journal before practically ripping Sam’s tent out of the ground. 

“Sammy?” he shouted, because Sam wasn’t in the tent. 

“Dean!” came the answering yell, Sam waving at him from a truck. The convoy was already starting to roll, people scrambling to get into the vehicles at the back as the front ones started moving. Sam was in the second truck, and Dean had to sprint, the smoke already starting to clog his lungs. He flung himself into the bed of the truck, Jo pulling at his undershirt and trying to help him scrabble in. The convoy rolled towards the bridge, gaining speed as they fled the flames. 

The first truck was about halfway across when the bridge collapsed, plunging a dozen vehicles down into the darkness and stranding the rest of their party with the flames. 

* * *

No one could tell how far they had fallen, only that most of the fall had been a steep slide at an angle, down and down and down. When the dust settled, Bobby began shouting. He located Ellen, Jo, Sam, Bela, Crowley, and a dozen soldiers in turn. There was no response when he called for Dean. Sam nearly flew into a panic, his voice echoing around the cavern as Ellen fired a flare gun, illuminating shear rock walls surrounding them. There was no way they could climb back up to the rest of the party; from where they were, there wasn’t even a glow from the fires in the cavern above. They began to survey the wreckage, searching for other survivors.

Dean groaned as he came to, head aching. His vision swam for a moment before coalescing into strange hooded figures. Three of them, their faces lit within their hoods from an unseen light source which cast heavy shadows across their features. The tallest approached him, bending down on one knee so as to be face to face with Dean. Bright blue eyes regarded Dean with curiosity; a day or two of stubble told Dean this beautiful creature was a man. But where had he come from? Dean did not recognize him from their party; he could not recall anyone whose head glowed. Dean’s head swam and his stomach turned as he tried to form words. The sounds that came out of his mouth were meaningless in any language. The man tilted his head, eyes narrowing curiously, before turning back to his companions. The hooded people conversed quietly in lyrical voices. The man turned back to him, leaning closer still, as he reached out a hand for Dean’s shoulder. Dean hadn’t put on his jacket in the rush to flee the flames; his undershirt left his arms bare to the cool air. Dean tried to lean away from the man’s touch but was trapped by the rock he was leaned against. The man’s touch was light, gentle, a cooling relief spreading from where his hand touched. Dean watched, fascinated, as a glow seemed to spread from the man’s hand across his skin, a bright handprint lingering for a few moments after the man removed his hand. Dean’s head was clear now, even the scrapes on his arms had healed. 

The man held his gaze for a few moments longer, some kind of mutual fascination flaring between them, before one of the people behind him spoke sharply and they all turned and fled. They moved quickly over the rocks. 

“Wait!” shouted Dean, scrambling to his feet and taking off after them. He grabbed his flashlight from his satchel, which was still slung across his body. Their glows made them easier to trace through the cavern, but they were moving so fast. 

“Dean?” Sam shouted, hearing his brother’s voice. “Dean!” He saw Dean’s flashlight beam moving away and took off after his brother. The rest of the remaining party followed him as best they could. 

“Sam!” Dean shouted, not slowing his pursuit.

Dean was almost keeping up with the strangers, scrabbling over rocks and making an absurd amount of noise as he pursued them. Sam should be having no trouble following his trail. Suddenly, they disappeared. He got to the last place he saw them and stopped, looking around. Some kind of secret passageway leading off of this cavern? He shone his flashlight around, finally catching on something that looked like roots. He moved closer, running a finger over the tendril: it was definitely a root. He traced it with his finger until it joined a larger web, roots spreading out from a crevice in the wall that was nearly invisible. It opened diagonally to the cavern wall’s flat surface, only a few meters deep, but deep enough to disguise the lush greenery on the other side. He pushed out through it, emerging onto a rocky peninsula. The three hooded figures stood close to the edge, looking out over an ancient city surrounded on all sides by an enormous waterfall. 

“Holy shit,” Dean cursed softly, “son of a bitch,” and the three figures turned to look at him. 

They brandished weapons, shining short silver blades that they wielded as if they were extensions of their arms. The man who had approached him before, who had healed him (although Dean still did not understand how) stepped towards him. 

He had pushed back the hood of his robe to reveal a spiky mess of black hair. A thin ring of metal circled his head, glowing a faint light blue and the folds of the robe were tossed back over his shoulders, baring his arms. Dean saw that the inside of the robe was patterned with black feathers, as if the fabric were giant wings. Beneath the robe, man was clad in a light blue knee-length wrapped skirt, emphasizing the vee of his hips and the sweep of his muscular thighs, a wide strip of black and dark blue striped cloth hanging down the center. His forearms and shoulders were armored with metal plating, held in place by leather straps. He was fearsome and alien and beautiful. 

He began speaking, and it took Dean’s enraptured mind a moment to start translating his speech. His tone was warning. It seemed like the Atlantean language, the pronunciation somewhat close to what Dean had guessed. Dean replied, haltingly, explaining that he meant them no harm. His pronunciation seemed to confuse the man slightly, so Dean tried a dialect of Ancient Greek that had been spoken nearby. The man seemed shocked, but responded in the same dialect. They tried a few more languages, even modern romance languages, and the man spoke each with ease. He confirmed Dean’s wildest dreams: this was Atlantis, the lost City of Angels, and he was an Atlantean. An angel. Dean paused for a steadying breath, pulse pounding, when there was a shout behind him. 

“Dean!” Sam burst through the foliage, swatting vines out of the way. “Dean, are you okay? Why the hell did you run off?” Sam grabbed his brother by the shoulders before startling as he noticed the three Atlanteans regarding him warily. “Um, Dean? You wanna introduce me to your friends?”

“Sam!” Ellen burst through the foliage, followed by the rest of the party, a pissed off Crowley bringing up the tail.

“Whoa,” said someone, as they all stopped in their tracks and took in the sight of the city. 

“It’s Atlantis, guys,” Dean told them, unable to stop a grin from spreading across his face. “We found Atlantis!” The group erupted into fascinated murmurs, beholding the city before them.

“These Morlocks speak English?” grumbled Crowley, eyeing the city but seeming distinctly unimpressed by the locals. 

“I don’t know yet,” replied Dean, meeting the angel’s eyes curiously. The man’s lips quirked in a tiny smile before he spoke, gravely voice combing over the words easily. 

“Welcome to Atlantis,” he said, gesturing to the city behind him. Then he gripped Dean’s shoulder again, the same place he had touched him to heal him before. “Come, meet my sister, our queen.” Dean grinned: they had found the city, and not only were there still locals, the locals were friendly. And more than a little good looking. His skin felt heated where the angel had gripped his shoulder, answering the heat zinging excitedly through his veins. 

The angels led the way to where the peninsula connected to a narrow strip of land, making their way towards a bridge. 

“Bela, Crowley, take these soldiers and retrieve the equipment,” Dean heard Bobby barking behind him. “Bring as much as you can carry for now.” 

“We’ll have to widen this opening to fit anything through,” grumbled Crowley. 

“There were not supposed to be people down here,” muttered Bela. Crowley glared at her, as if willing her to keep her mouth shut. She met his eyes. “This changes everything.”

“This changes nothing,” he replied, brushing vines out of the way as he followed soldiers back into the cavern. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and the gang meet Atlantis's queen.

Dean followed the angels across the bridge, a long rope-and-plank deal suspended over misty depths. The waterfall that surrounded the city fell down to untold deepness, streaming away from the city to make its escape into the fathomless pit. The city looked shining from the far side of the bridge, but closer up the evidence of its age was all too apparent. Vines crept over great stone sculptures, fissures and chips belying the city’s rough descent to its present location. Dean supposed they had to be inside another cavern, clearly still far beneath the surface. Great bowls of fire held aloft by towering statues provided a welcoming light, although the whole cavern was filled with a diffuse glow that mimicked sunlight on an overcast day. Towering buildings rose to sharp spires, twisting up towards the roof of the cavern. The stone paved roads were smooth underfoot. They passed through a small marketplace; the vendors, surrounded by their goods laid out on tables beneath lightweight awnings, regarded them with open curiosity and no small measure of fear. 

“You don’t get a lot of visitors, huh?” Dean asked the angel with the blue eyes. He turned to look at him, and Dean wasn’t sure if it was amusement or worry in those eyes. 

“No, we do not.” The man said no more. Dean swallowed, fiddling with his hands in the man’s silence. 

“I’m Dean,” he offered. “Dean Winchester.” 

“Hello Dean Winchester,” the man replied. 

“It’s just Dean,” Dean said, “Winchester is my family name.”

“I see,” the man replied. “I am Castiel.”

“Castiel,” repeated Dean, rolling the strange sounds around on his tongue. “Nice to meet you. So, we’re going to meet the queen?” Dean tried out the sentence in Atlantean, eager to practice the language. Castiel’s lips did that little amused quirk thing again, his eyes flashing to Dean’s as they walked together at the head of the group. They were picking up a few curious stragglers, with more and more people out lining the streets as they drew closer to the center of the city. Curious eyes regarded them from all directions. 

“Yes,” Castiel replied, “my sister Anna.” They were approaching the palace now, a half dozen formidable looking guards glaring at them. Castiel motioned for Dean and the rest of the group to stop as he approached a guard. Dean could just make out the words he spoke to the guard. “I am bringing the visitors to the queen. Please let us pass.”

“Castiel, visitors are not allowed in the city. You know what the queen will say.”

“I know my sister,” Castiel growled, his posture aggressive. The way he spoke to the guard, the commanding expectation of obedience in his voice, suggested he was pulling rank. Dean felt his pulse speed a little. The guard eyed Castiel warily before nodding to the two guards standing nearest the doors. They pushed bodily at the enormous wooden structures, the doors easily twenty feet high and as thick as a man’s body. 

Castiel led the group down a long hallway, lined with columns and through another set of doors, this set guarded only by two guards. The doors swung open into an atrium, the edges of the room lined with thick columns, the center of the room open to the air above and filled with water in a shallow pool below. Wide flagstones formed a winding path across the water, which was dotted with blooming aquatic plants.

“Your highness,” Castiel said as they approached the woman seated on the far side of the shallow pool, “I have brought the visitors.” He knelt on one of the flagstones near the far side of the pool, and Dean quickly copied his behavior. He watched as the red haired woman stood, walking to the edge of the pool and regarding their group cooly. 

“Castiel, you know that no outsider may see our city and live. Why have you brought them here?” Her voice was light and lilting. She appeared young, younger even than Castiel, her face unlined and her body firm beneath the twisted bandeau and wrapped skirt the women of the city seemed to favor. Pale blue tattoos, the same color as the light emanating from the circlet on her head, traced her shoulders and chest in thick geometric lines. She was quite young, Dean thought, to be a queen, perhaps in her mid twenties. 

“Anna, these people may be able to help us. We have had no visitors in centuries.”

Dean discretely pulled a notebook from his satchel and began to scribble notes, trying to capture the nuances of their pronunciation. 

“It is Law, Castiel.” Anna looked saddened by her own proclamation. “The council has spoken.”

“And you are listening to them?” Castiel stood, a challenge in his voice. 

“Do not question me, Castiel,” Anna replied, her tone brooking no argument. Castiel’s posture changed at the tension in her voice, something concerned creeping into his expression. 

“Should we say something?” Bobby asked Dean quietly. “What are they saying? It don’t sound like they’re planning us a parade. These guys have a history of human sacrifice?”

“No,” replied Dean, “but I’m not certain we are welcome here.” 

“You should leave,” Anna announced, speaking English. “Take your weapons and leave this city.”

“But we’re just explorers,” said Bobby, unwilling to go without a fight, “and we’ve come a long way. We mean you no harm.” 

“You will not find what you seek here,” said Anna, as Dean tugged on Bobby’s arm, trying to get him to shut up. “You must leave Atlantis at once.”

“Trust me on this,” Dean muttered to Bobby, “we’d better do as she says.”

“Your Majesty,” began Jo, stepping in front of Dean and shrugging his restraining hand off her shoulder, “we are exhausted. May we respectfully request that you allow us to stay one night, so that we may regain our strength for the long journey home?”

Anna’s posture changed slightly when Jo moved to address her, curiosity lighting her features. She hesitated, seeming moved by Jo’s words, but as if there were some kind of internal debate raging in her mind. This council must have a lot of power if it could make the queen enforce laws she did not like. 

“Very well,” Anna said, smiling slightly at the grin that lit Jo’s face, “one night, but that is all.”

“Thank you,” gasped Jo, kneeling in an imitation of Castiel’s earlier bow. Their group left the throne room, escorted by the other two angels who had met them on the peninsula. Castiel stayed with the queen as the heavy doors were pushed shut behind them. The angels led them back out into the city. 

* * *

“The Council isn’t going to like this,” Anna said, wringing her hands and pacing now that she didn’t have an audience. She met Castiel’s eyes as he stepped over the last bit of water separating him from her. “They’re already putting enough pressure on me, Castiel, they’re very mad that I won’t fall in line like they want me to.” The Council was supposed to be an advisory board, but the members had gotten hard headed and high handed as time passed and petty disputes grew into bitter rivalries. Castiel unfastened his armor as he spoke, revealing tattoos similar to his sister’s across his forearms and shoulders. 

“Anna, a thousand years ago neither of us would have hesitated to kill outsiders on sight. But we both know the situation is different now. It’s been millennia since there have been any outsiders in Atlantis, and we are not the same city as we were back then.” Castiel was certain that this change was a positive thing, that Dean and the visitors could be exactly what Atlantis needed. He did not want to send them away, regardless of the political implications of that decision. He was not ready to part ways with the brave and handsome scholar, not yet.

“We’re a bunch of petty children, slowly tearing each other apart because we don’t have a parent to guide us any longer.” Anna was exhausted by it all, settling onto her chair and resting her elbows on her knees. 

“The problem is not Father’s absence, Anna. And even if it were, he is not a possible solution. He is not coming back. We have to figure out how to fix this for ourselves. And maybe these outsiders can help.” 

“We don’t need help.” Anna’s face was stern, but Castiel could see the worry beneath the warrior’s mask. 

“Our people live in ruins, Anna. Our city is dying, most of the old ways lost to us. The light will die, eventually and maybe soon. We do need help. You can toe the Council line if you want to, but we both know the truth. The Council only looks out for itself. It is your job to look out for our people.” Anna bristled momentarily, but she trusted her brother’s counsel enough to value even brutal honesty. 

“Maybe you are right. But Castiel, they pose a threat to our very way of life. They want something from us, I can feel it. I don’t know what it is yet, but I’m sure it’s something we won’t be willing to part with.” Castiel nodded; he shared his sister’s worry. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel shows Dean the City.

“Well, one night is better than killed on sight,” grumbled Bobby, “but we need to find out a little more about what is going on here. I feel like they’re hiding something.” Ellen nodded her agreement.

“Maybe someone should talk to Castiel,” suggested Jo. “He seems friendly enough.”

“Maybe someone who he seems to like should do it?” asked Sam, looking at his brother, who was tracing his fingers over the runes on a wall, his lips moving as he read them. 

“Someone who speaks the language,” muttered Crowley, ignoring the fact that their hosts had demonstrated proficiency in his language. He had rejoined them with Bela in the city’s main plaza. Soldiers were stacking crates of gear into neat piles as curious citizens looked on. He hoped the bastards weren’t going to steal all their shit while they slept. 

“I’ll do it,” volunteered Bela, a lewd smile on her face. 

“Uh,” said Sam still looking at his brother. 

“You’re right,” said Ellen. “Dean, look sharp!” she said, Dean turning away from the runes and frowning at them all. 

“We need you to buddy up to the angel and keep us informed,” said Crowley. His tone made Dean uncomfortable, as if he were suggesting that Dean should spy on their best bet at making it out of here alive. Castiel seemed to be on their side, so far, but the idea of manipulating him made Dean deeply uneasy. 

“Yeah,” he said tersely, nodding to Bobby and Ellen. He didn’t mind the idea of getting to  know Castiel better, after all, and he had thousands of questions he wanted to ask the angel. The fact that he was easy on the eyes was a bonus, he supposed, mind tracing around the edges of the image of Cas’s hips in that skirt thing he wore. The way it angled on his hips, echoing the vee of muscle. Jo punched him in the arm, snapping him back to reality. 

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” she said, smirking, as she and the others scattered to explore the city while they could. Dean turned to look back towards the palace, drawing a deep breath and willing his mind’s eye to relinquish its furious hold on that image of Cas’s hips. Cas. Maybe Castiel would let Dean give him a nickname. 

He lingered by the columns outside the palace, where there were only two guards by the doors now, waiting for Castiel to emerge. Dean struggled with what to say to the guy, because “I have some questions for you, and I’m not leaving this city until I get some answers” seemed to be coming on a little too strong when he said it out loud. He heard the door creak, ducking his head around the column to catch a glimpse of Castiel emerging. He took one final deep breath, steeling himself, before stepping around the column and into view of the doors, prepared to wing it. Castiel was nowhere to be seen; one of the guards was studying his toes and the other was rubbing his eyes. Dean ducked back behind the column, unable to figure out where Castiel had disappeared to. Suddenly, a hand grabbed his arm and another clapped over his mouth. Castiel was right in front of his face, pressing him against the column.

“I have some questions for you, and you’re not leaving this city until I get some answers.” Castiel’s eyes bored into Dean’s, intense, his hand hot against Dean’s lips. Then Castiel’s face split into a grin and he released the hand over Dean’s mouth, tugging on his arm. “Come with me.” 

Castiel led Dean to the edge of the city, where plants had taken back the carved stone, ducking under vines and clambering over the ruins with an easy grace. Dean tried not to stare at Castiel’s ass too much as he followed, but he slipped a few times because he wasn’t paying quite enough attention to his footing. 

“Tell me about your world,” said Castiel. “It has been a long time since we had contact with anyone outside our city. You are a scholar, yes? What do you study?” Castiel leapt nimbly down the side of a fallen statue. Dean followed, somehow rucking his shirt halfway up his chest although he landed steadily enough. Castiel’s eyes traced his torso as he continued his interrogation. “What country are you from? Have the flood waters receded?” 

“Whoa, Cas” said Dean, “too many questions. Look, you ask one, and then I’ll ask one, okay? We’ll trade off.” Castiel squinted at him slightly, his head tilted slightly to one side. He nodded. 

“Why did you call me Cas?” Castiel asked. 

“It’s a nickname, since I like you and your whole name is kind of a mouthful. Castiel,” Dean said, not mocking the name but letting the sounds play out slowly. 

“Why-” 

“Nope, Cas, my turn.” Castiel frowned, the skin between his eyebrows furrowing in a way that should not have been cute but somehow really was. He raised a querying eyebrow. 

“How did you guys get down here?” Dean asked. “I mean, our legends say that the city was swallowed by the sea, but somehow you’re all still here. What happened?”

Castiel’s face grew serious. “Our legends say that the gods grew jealous of Atlantis, and so we were banished by a great cataclysm.”

“Yeah, that pretty much matches up with our stories,” Dean agreed, “but it doesn’t explain how you survived.”

“I don’t remember it very well,” said Castiel. “I was very young then. Anna and I were shopping in the market when the sky became dark, and then there was a lot of shouting and running. I lost my father that day. There was a bright light, and he went into it.” 

“I’m sorry,” Dean said. “I lost my parents, and...wait, you were here? When the city sank, you remember it?” Castiel nodded. Dean was stunned. “How old are you, exactly?” He did the math quickly in his head. “Over ten thousand years.”

“Yes,” Castiel replied, matter of fact. 

“Well, hey,” Dean said, regathering his wits, “looking good.” He resisted the urge to wink at Castiel. Castiel dropped his eyes from Dean’s and turned away, walking again, but not before Dean noticed the way his cheeks had flushed. It had been an off-hand comment, designed to deflect the awkwardness of the situation, but apparently Dean had hit pretty close to the mark. He hadn’t bothered to think he really had a shot with this guy, but maybe... “Uh, so, do you have a question for me?”

“Yes. How did you find this place?” Castiel brushed a hanging vine out of the way, carefully picking his path over moss-covered rocks. 

“The messy way,” said Dean, mind flashing back to the crew they had started with compared to the tiny contingent exploring the city. “But if it weren’t for this book,” he continued, drawing the Hunter’s Journal from his satchel, “we never would have made it at all.” Castiel held out a hand for the book and Dean gave it to him. He leafed through the pages. 

“Next question,” Dean said, “that book says your people had a power source of some kind, the Heart, that-” Castiel cut him off.

“You can read this?” he asked, voice suspicious. 

“Yes?” Dean was a little shocked by Castiel’s tone. “It’s written in Atlantean. I mean, I’m a linguist, reading it is my job, so yes, I can read Atlantean.” He stepped closer, shoulder brushing Castiel’s as he looked at the pages again to confirm that it was, in fact, the local language.

“It’s High Atlantean,” Castiel balked. 

“You don’t read High Atlantean?” Dean asked. Castiel huffed a small laugh. 

“Uh, no. This was the language reserved for the priests, and even then only the highest ranking among them could read it. Restricted access to the knowledge written in this language was one of the major ways they retained their power. Most of us speak a little of it. Spoken, it is mostly like a different dialect of our common language. But no one can read it.” Castiel met Dean’s eyes. “The temple was at the outskirts of the city before the Sinking, and it was lost in the flood. Along with everyone who could read High Atlantean. Naturally, a great deal of our knowledge is stored exclusively in this language, inaccessible to us now.” Castiel sounded sarcastic and irritated at that last part. “We have a written language that everyone else uses. We call the common language Enochian.”

“Oh.” Dean was surprised, trying to figure out what to say. Two languages. It did explain why he had found the pronunciation and speech patterns different than he expected. Castiel handed the book back to Dean, not meeting his eyes. 

“Enochian. Uh, well,” Dean swallowed, “I could teach you to read it, if you want?” Castiel looked at him sharply, eyes searching for some kind of deceit in the offer. “High Atlantean, I mean, because there’s some parts of it that I’m having trouble understanding, and I could use some help with those.” He opened the book, reading a passage about the road aloud. Castiel tugged at his arm, indicating a low stone bench. 

They sat together, shoulders touching, so Castiel could watch Dean’s finger trace the text as he read it. Castiel could clearly understand some of the writing when it was read aloud; he helped Dean with a few tricky terms that had stumped him. Colloquialisms, things that never seemed to translate right in the first place. Dean let his mind drift a little, enjoying the warmth of Castiel pressed against his side, the way Castiel seemed to be leaning into him more the longer they sat. He was shocked by the bolt of arousal that shot through his gut when Castiel placed his hand over Dean’s, stilling it. 

“I want to show you something else.” Dean nodded as Castiel held his gaze, their faces close enough that they shared the same air, before rising abruptly. 

Castiel led Dean to one of his favorite places. They climbed a tall building, sometimes using stairs, other times using the vines growing over the sloping surfaces to pull themselves up, climbing higher and higher until they emerged atop one of the spires that Dean had seen in the distance earlier. He looked around: from up here, he could see the entire city spread beneath him. 

“Wow, Cas,” he breathed, turning to take it all in. His foot slipped, suddenly, a crumbling bit of stone cascading down the building below him as Castiel grabbed his hand.

“Don’t fall,” he said, eyes wide. Dean grinned at him, cocky, but didn’t let go of Castiel’s hand since Castiel had made no move to take it back. “This is one of my favorite places,” he explained. “I like to come here to think.” 

“I can see why,” Dean answered. His own favorite place to think was his parents’ grave, a thought that brought a sudden tightness to his chest as he beheld the fulfillment of a lifelong dream below him. “Cas, this is unreal. Thank you.”

Later, after they climbed back down, Dean could still feel where his hand had been intertwined with Castiel’s. They made their way down to the city’s docks to watch the fishermen work. The fish they caught were like nothing Dean had ever seen before, strangely crustacean creatures. A tiny one pinched his hand and he absolutely did not squeal. 

In the marketplace, they ran into Sam and Jo, who were watching a tattoo artist add more of the pale blue lines to a man’s skin. A pair of children came running up to them, genders indistinguishable in their matching wrap skirts and short haircuts, pleading with Castiel to come and play a game with them. Castiel begged off, buying each of them what Dean guessed was a piece of fruit. Like the fish, it was strange to him. 

“Those are my brother’s children,” Castiel explained. “If I joined their game, we would not be finished until their bedtime. They are truly inexhaustible.” He smiled fondly at the children's retreating backs. “Besides, we have dinner plans.”

“We do?” asked Dean. This was the first he had heard of it. 

“Yes, Anna wants you and all of your party to eat with us at the palace. There will be a lot of people there who are eager to meet our visitors.” Dean was a little surprised, given Anna’s earlier hesitance about their group, but his stomach rumbled at the mention of food. Dean had a lot of questions about food that he needed to ask Castiel, come to think of it. His research had not turned up any mention of a desert like pie existing in Atlantis, but the record was decidedly incomplete. 

“That sounds great,” he replied. “Cas, do you guys have anything like pie?” He proceeded to explain the desert, dismayed to learn that Castiel had never heard of such a thing. Castiel made him describe it in detail, though, and if Dean waxed a little pornographic about exactly how delicious pie was, well, he kept his voice low, speaking into Castiel’s ear. The flush creeping into Castiel’s cheeks was more than enough encouragement to keep him expounding the virtues of pie far longer than necessary. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner is pleasant enough, but afterwards Dean and Cas go for a swim and that's when things really get interesting. 
> 
> (Here's where I earn that explicit rating ;) )

When Castiel had never heard of anything remotely similar to pie, that should have been Dean’s first clue that their meal was going to be, well, an experience. Dinner was comprised of a mix of strange sea creatures and probably-vegetables, delicious in its own way but vastly different from what Dean was used to eating. The way everyone kept chattering, however, no one seemed to notice if he poked his food more often than he ate it. 

They were seated beneath awnings, on the ground which had been strewn with clusters of large cushions. Sam was having a field day, taunting Jo, Anna, and Bobby with his bowl of shrimp-like creatures. Fortunately, no one seemed to mind if he played with his food.

Castiel made Dean tell him about each member of their crew as they ate. Dean didn’t know any of the soldiers (not even their names; mentally he still referred to them as things like Shiny Boots or Big Nose or Biceps), and there were a few other specialists that he hadn’t had a chance to talk to, but Castiel was delighted to learn about Sam. So Dean told him the most embarrassing stories he could think of as they watched Sam try to balance a larger crustacean on Jo’s shoulder. 

“That’s my brother Gabriel,” Castiel whispered to Dean as a man with golden eyes snuck up behind Sam, gently placing a live creature that looked like a tiny lobster into Sam’s hair. When it pinched his finger and Sam screamed, legitimately screamed, Jo and Anna laughed so hard they had to hold on to each other to avoid falling over. “He enjoys stirring up trouble.”

“Sammy kind of earned that one,” Dean laughed. 

“Why do you call him Sammy?” Castiel asked. “I thought his name was Sam.”

“It’s what I called him when he was little. It’s a nickname, like Cas.”

“But I am not little.” Castiel’s brow furrowed; he tilted his head as he looked at Dean. “You said earlier it was because my name was too long, but Sammy is longer than Sam. Why do I get a nickname?”

“I dunno,” Dean said, “I guess we give them to people we like.”

“You like me,” Castiel said, seeming pleased. 

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean laughed, elbowing Castiel in the ribs, “you’re alright.” He grinned at Castiel, whose lips quirked in a tiny flash of a smile before he dropped his eyes to his food. 

* * *

“Did anyone see you?” Crowley asked as Bela approached quietly.

“No,” she answered curtly. “I do know what I am doing.” She inclined her head to one of the soldiers, who was standing casually next to a pyramid of crates. He and another soldier lifted one down, prying off the lid as Crowley approached. He peered inside. 

“How many?” he asked.

“A dozen more crates like that one. More than enough to arm us, and far more than we will need to take what we want from these savages.”

“Don’t underestimate those Winchester boys,” Crowley said. “The bleeding hearts have got friends here. We could have trouble from our own people.” 

Bela traced a finger along the smooth wooden stock of one of the rifles in the crate. “We can handle them,” she replied.

* * *

After dinner, Castiel led Dean away from the tent. The others lingered as wine was brought out and passed around. Castiel assured him that their absence would not be noticed once the drinking got underway. 

“There’s something I need your help with,” Castiel explained as they walked. “Along with our ability to read the old language, we have lost much of what once made our culture so great.” Dean had noticed the distinct lack of advanced machinery or electronics around the city, but they had already found so much more than he had ever dared dream - a living culture, not just crumbling ruins - that he hadn’t really cared. He explained this to Castiel. “The knowledge still exists,” said Castiel, “at least I think so.” 

He had led Dean to the edge of a wide pond. Orbs of flickering light were strung all around in the twilight, reflecting off the still water. He wondered briefly how this place had days and nights with no sun; the diffuse glow from overhead had dimmed in accordance with what his internal clock suggested was evening. “This mural contains a vast wealth of information, but none of us can read it.” Castiel was gesturing at the water. “We will have to swim to it, but if you could read it...” Castiel trailed off. 

“Yeah, sure,” Dean said, “no problem. My family went to the beach when I was younger, I learned to swim in the ocean.” 

“Good,” replied Castiel, untying his wrapped skirt. For a moment, Dean was afraid that he was going to get far more of a show than he had bargained for (or was he hopeful?) but Castiel was clad in an under layer not unlike Dean’s, but without legs in the same way Dean’s undershirt was without sleeves.  He watched as Castiel stepped down into the water. A few stone stairs were visible at the water’s edge, but Castiel was quickly chest-deep. He ducked under the water as Dean removed his boots, coming back up a few yards away. Dean’s heart was pounding as he debated swimming more or less fully dressed; lifelong-dream-fulfilling-text to translate or no, he wasn’t sure his growing enthusiasm for Castiel’s athletic form would remain unnoticed if he shucked his pants. Common sense won out, however, as he stripped down to his cotton boxers. 

The water was comfortably cool on his bare feet. He ducked under as soon as it was deep enough, opening his eyes and swimming with long strokes out to where Castiel was treading water. He shook out his hair as he came up for air. 

“How far down is it?” Dean asked. 

“It is a substantial distance,” Castiel replied. “Follow me.” He took a deep breath and dove under the water. Dean followed quickly. 

The stairs that led into the lake led deeper, through a submerged portion of the city. As Dean’s lungs began to burn and ache for air, Castiel swam back towards the surface. They emerged in a small space, the area enclosed in crumbled stone and dense foliage. They rested briefly, treading in the space that was little more than wide enough for Dean to float on his back. 

“Are you alright?” asked Castiel.

“I’m doing fine,” answered Dean, trying not to kick Castiel in the close space. He had expected their voices to echo, but the foliage dampened the sound. “Where are we now?”

“This is near the edge of the city,” Castiel explained. Dean could see the dim glow of the city overhead. “It is nearly impossible to find from the surface, however, and it is easier to swim up to it than climb down it.” He shrugged his shoulders as if apologizing. 

“It’s nice,” said Dean. “Peaceful.” If the top of the spire earlier had been magnificent, this space was soothing. Their own little world, hidden from the prying eyes of the city. Dean hoped absently that he might get a chance to make use of that privacy, figuring a little fantasy never hurt. Those thoughts were better saved for another time, though, as Castiel’s observant eyes were locked on his own again. Dean tore his gaze away to take a moment and commit this space to memory. 

He wasn’t sure if the space was more properly called a cove or a lagoon, and decided it was probably too small to be either, but he liked the sound of lagoon. He found a small stone ledge running along the edge of the lagoon, hauling himself up to sit on it. Castiel sat next to him. The ledge was narrow, barely large enough for the two of them side by side, and Castiel’s skin was warm with exertion. They caught their breath for a moment, pressed against each other. Castiel met his eyes again and Dean swallowed. “Should we continue?” he asked, voice rougher than he had intended. Castiel nearly startled, slipping quickly off the ledge and back into the water. 

“I would really like to see if you can translate the mural,” he said, the words somehow tinged with regret. Dean slid slowly off the ledge into the cool water, missing the heat of Castiel’s skin already. 

“Okay,” said Dean, and Castiel nodded, diving back under the water. They swam a bit further, the circlet on Castiel’s head glowing brighter under the dark water. Suddenly, intricate mosaics came into view, beautiful images mixed with blocks of High Atlantean text. Dean swam close to the mural, Castiel right at his shoulder, hand on his back to help hold him in place as he read. He nodded at Castiel and they surfaced into a small pocket of air, faces inches apart. 

“It’s an entire history of Atlantis, Cas,” Dean said, excitement echoing off the stone enclosure. “It’s incredible, the level of detail, there are answers to questions I didn’t even know to _ask_ here.” 

“The Heart, Dean. What does it say about the Heart?” 

“That’s the power source, right? I didn’t see that part yet.” 

“We need to find that part, Dean. The Heart...we need to understand how it works.”

“I want the same thing, Cas.” Dean was troubled by the anxious look in Castiel’s eyes. “You ready?” In response, Castiel dove back under the water. 

They stayed under as long as they could bear, Dean translating the relevant section. It depicted a large star, the same blue-white as Castiel’s tattoos, of the glow from his circlet. When they surfaced in the air pocket, both sucked in a few deep breaths before Dean spoke. 

“The Heart, Cas, it’s the reason you’re all here. It’s not just the power source, it’s what makes your head-thing glow,” Castiel fingered the circlet on his head, looking bemused, “it’s what’s keeping Atlantis alive.”

“Where is it?” asked Castiel. 

“I don’t know. It doesn’t say.” The information seemed important enough to warrant inclusion, but the mural gave no clues to the Heart’s whereabouts. Castiel looked disappointed. “I’m sorry, Cas. There’s nothing about the location.” Castiel nodded. 

“We should return,” he said, before slipping back under the water. Dean chased after him, barely managing to keep him in sight until they surfaced in the lagoon again. 

“Cas,” he gasped, sucking in lungfuls of air, “I’m sorry.”

“It isn’t your fault Dean. But,” Castiel hesitated, not meeting Dean’s eyes, “our way of life is dying. Unless we can understand the Heart, learn the old ways again, Atlantis will not survive.” 

“I’ll help, if I can,” said Dean, letting his back muscles stretch as he pulled himself up onto the ledge. The stretch felt good after the hard swim; he dropped his chin to his chest and groaned with pleasure. When he turned, seated on the ledge, submerged in the water to just below his belly button, Castiel was staring at him. His eyes were wide, and he seemed to be trying to stay as far from Dean as the tiny space allowed. 

“You okay, Cas?” asked Dean. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the edge of the ledge next to his knees. Castiel nodded, seemed to come to a decision and began floating towards him slowly; Dean shifted to make room for him on the ledge. As Castiel approached, however, he swam straight towards Dean. Castiel suddenly gripped Dean’s calves and tugged, pulling Dean into the water directly in front of Castiel. “Cas?” Dean asked, heart pounding. Unless Castiel was planning to drown him, he could really only see one reason for Castiel to corner him like this, pressing him against the rock wall and caging him in with his arms. Cautious, testing his theory, he let his hands drift to Castiel’s waist, holding on to him so they wouldn’t have to kick each other treading water, relishing the heat of his skin. Castiel sucked in a breath at the touch, ducking his head to rest his forehead against Dean’s shoulder. “Everything okay?” Dean could feel cautious warmth pooling in his gut, blood flowing south, and it was about to be painfully obvious to Castiel exactly how Dean felt about him. 

“Cas?” he asked, one more time, voice barely above a whisper. Castiel lifted his head to meet Dean’s eyes, letting go of the ledge with one hand to brush Dean’s hair off his face. Castiel didn’t speak. Dean’s tongue darted out to wet his lips when Castiel looked at them, hands tugging Castiel a little closer, as Castiel’s hand fell from Dean’s hair to cup his face. Dean wasn’t certain who moved first, closing the space between them, but suddenly their lips met and the world spun in a dizzying circle. 

Castiel kissed aggressively, sliding a hand back up to knot in Dean’s hair again, darting his tongue out to lick at the seam of Dean’s lips. With a groan, Dean opened to him, pulling Castiel flush against him as he did. He was rewarded with Castiel’s answering moan, the hot press of his erection against Dean’s hip. 

“Do you have any idea how long it has been?” Castiel murmured, lips moving along Dean’s neck. “I wanted you the first moment I saw you. I wasn’t supposed to heal you, you know,” he said, rolling his hips against Dean’s to draw another groan from both of them, “but you were so beautiful, even injured. And then today, watching your passion for discovery,” Castiel reclaimed Dean’s lips for another kiss. “I knew, when I realized you felt the same heat I do, I knew it needed to lead to this.” 

“Cas,” Dean murmured. Thousands of years old, how long _had_ it been? “I never thought,” he started, trying to find words for the ache behind his ribs, pulling his mouth from Castiel’s to meet his eyes, “I’d be with someone so old.” He flashed a cocky grin as Castiel shoved him under the water in revenge. They wrestled, splashing water and tangling limbs, until Dean managed to pin Castiel against a wall of the lagoon. “So tell me,” he said seductively, leaning in for a kiss, “ _exactly_ how long has it been?” Castiel growled, pushing at Dean’s chest and kicking off the wall, propelling them both into the ledge. He shoved at Dean until Dean lifted himself onto it. Castiel climbed up after him, straddling his lap. He kissed Dean, hard. 

“Don’t make fun of my age,” he said, “and I won’t mock your inexperience.” Dean smiled into the kiss. 

“What makes you think I’m inexperienced?” Dean asked, rolling his hips up into Castiel’s. 

“Ten thousand years, Dean,” replied Castiel. “Do you honestly think there is anything I _haven’t_ tried?” Dean groaned at that, pulling Castiel’s hips down against his and dragging his teeth along Castiel’s plush lower lip. 

The cool water did little to soothe the blazing heat building beneath Dean’s skin, the heat building between them. Castiel kissed him again, more gently this time, as if savoring the taste and feel of Dean’s mouth. 

Castiel slid a hand between them, pressing a warm palm against Dean’s cock. Dean moaned into Castiel’s mouth, sucking in a breath as Castiel gripped him through the soaked fabric that felt almost absent beneath the hot brand of Castiel’s fingers. Castiel traced a finger under the waistband of Dean’s boxers, tugging slightly as he sucked soft kisses just beneath Dean’s jaw. Dean gripped his hips tightly, trying to pull Castiel closer, somehow, needing him nearer to soothe the fiery ache that seemed to radiate from the core of his being. He reclaimed Castiel’s mouth as Castiel tugged at the waistband of his boxers again. 

Castiel lifted his hips away from Dean, and Dean bucked up, involuntarily desperate to maintain contact, to maintain friction, but Castiel broke their kiss and Dean could see that he was removing his own undergarment. Dean slid his boxers down his legs, reaching around Castiel to grab them off of his foot and only barely remembering that he should put them on the ledge next to him if he ever wanted to see them again. 

Dean groaned as Castiel settled back into his lap and wrapped a hand around him, lining up their cocks in his hand. Castiel was gorgeous everywhere, he discovered, the head of his cock pink and swollen, hot against Dean’s just under the surface of the water. Dean added his hand to Castiel’s, gripping Castiel’s hip with his other hand. He kissed Castiel again as he began to roll his hips. They found a rhythm, fucking up into their joined fists, soft pants and moans against each other’s mouths filling the small space of the lagoon. 

Dean wished, briefly, for the small jar tucked into his bags back in the city, wishing he could feel more of Castiel, craving the heated intimacy of being inside him. He dragged his mind away from the fantasy, however, savoring the reality of Castiel’s hand fisted in his hair, the soft gasps and bitten off whimpers he made when Dean squeezed their fists just a fraction tighter, the intense blue of his eyes where his gaze was locked with Dean’s. It was that gaze that finally let Dean know just how gone he was on Castiel, how badly he needed this, how he doubted he could give Castiel up regardless of the reality looming just a short swim away. He closed his eyes to those thoughts and kissed Castiel again, more tenderly than he had intended, a growl escaping his throat at Castiel’s whimpered “ _Dean_ ”. 

The sound of his name in that broken, pleading tone drew Dean right to the edge, the pooling heat coalescing to a razor sharp burn that threatened to spill over as his balls drew up tighter. Castiel moaned as he licked in to Dean’s mouth, sounding as desparate as Dean felt. Castiel drew his thumb across the heads of their cocks roughly, and Dean couldn’t hold out any longer. He came, groaning into Castiel’s mouth as pleasure washed through him in shuddering waves. He could feel Castiel pulsing against him, his own release mixing with Dean’s in the water. Castiel’s hand stroked them through the aftershocks, drawing out the pleasure until it edged into overstimulation. He rested his head on Dean’s shoulder, tucking his nose against Dean’s neck. Dean leaned his head against Castiel’s as they wrapped their arms around each other, savoring the intimacy in the post-orgasmic haze of bliss. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Dean and Cas enjoyed their swim, Crowley was not idle. 
> 
> Warning for homophobia.

Castiel had challenged Dean to a race back to the lake. His body cut a lithe form through the water just ahead of Dean. Dean ought to be irritated by that, considering Castiel had stolen the advantage by diving under and taking off while Dean was still sucking in a few lungfuls of air, but Dean figured he probably would have let Castiel win just so he could appreciate the ripple of his muscles as he swam. He wondered how quickly they could be ready for round two as his lungs began to burn.

Dean surfaced on the far edge of the lake, still a hundred yards from the stone steps. Castiel popped up a few yards away before turning back, shaking water from his hair before colliding with Dean as he kissed him. Their legs tangled and they sank briefly below the surface of the water, still kissing. He could feel Castiel growing hard against his hip again just before he pulled away, still holding on to Dean’s shoulder tightly as he kicked back towards the surface. Dean kissed him again after they both sucked down a few deep breaths. Castiel grinned at him breathlessly, pulling their foreheads to touch, and Dean grinned back. 

He didn’t want this time to end, didn’t want to get out of the water and return to the world where he would have to leave Castiel in the morning. It had been so long since Dean had felt anything for anyone, and even if it was too soon to name the tug behind his ribs that seemed to tie him more and more to Castiel; he didn’t want to face leaving this behind. It surprised him a little to realized that he would rather spend his remaining time with Castiel than combing the city for more knowledge. Castiel could teach him most of it anyways. He realized he and Castiel had been staring at each other, treading water a foot or so apart, hands and arms brushing.

“Cas,” he said, reaching out to touch Castiel’s cheek, trying to figure out how to voice what he was thinking without scaring the shit out of Castiel. A shout from the other side of the lake startled both of them.

“Alright, lover boy, that’s quite enough of a show,” Crowley called out. Dean nearly sank back under the water in shock when he saw that most of their crew was standing at the top of the steps. A soldier pushed Sam forward, forcing him to kneel next to Crowley. Crowley drew a pistol and aimed it at Sam’s head. “How about you two come over here. We have some things to discuss.”

“Fuck,” Dean muttered, glancing back at Castiel, whose brow was furrowed. They swam slowly, side by side with their heads above water, towards Crowley. “Fuck, Cas, that’s a gun in his hand.” Castiel shook his head, not understanding. “He’s threatening to kill Sam. Less than a second, a squeeze of the trigger, Cas, fuck, with a gun it isn’t even hard.” Dean’s heart was pounding, his body cold in the warm water.

“Can we fight him?” Castiel seemed ready to follow Dean’s lead. Dean was sorry he had left his knife in the pocket of his pants, but he wasn’t sure it would have helped in their situation anyways.

“We’re better off doing what he says for now,” Dean said, keeping his voice low as they got nearer to the steps, “but we’ll figure out a way to stop him.” Castiel nodded, his eyes carefully evaluating the crowd gathered on the steps.

“Sampling the local flavor, Dean? I didn’t take you for a faggot.” Bela was standing next to Crowley, sneering at Dean. Fuck, he couldn’t believe he had been so careless. It would have been one thing for him to go swimming with Castiel; the mural made a solid enough excuse. But to be caught kissing him: Castiel’s people seemed not care one way or another (they had seen all kinds of family groups that afternoon), but there was a reason Dean stuck to dating women at home. And Sam, fuck, he’d never said anything to Sam. At the same time, though, the gun pointed to his little brother’s head kind of outweighed any freak out he wanted to have over being caught with a guy.

“What do you want?” he asked Crowley, layering his voice with anger and aggression. He had learned a long time ago to let the homophobia slide; Bela was clearly trying to rile him up. Castiel stayed close to Dean’s side as they emerged from the water, dripping onto the flagstones.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Crowley drawled. “What we all came here for. I want the Heart, Dean, and you’re going to find it for me. Otherwise, baby brother and lover boy here get one in the head.” Soldiers behind Crowley aimed rifles at Dean and Castiel’s chests. Dean’s hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“Castiel, why don’t you come over here?” Bela invited, her voice syrupy and dangerous. 

Castiel looked at Dean. Dean nodded at the rifles. “Those are guns too, Cas.” He held Castiel’s gaze, trying to think of a way out of this. It seemed like he’d do better to find a way to undermine Crowley later than to get shot now. “Do what she says.” Castiel scowled as he moved slowly towards Bela, picking up his wrap and retying it as he moved. She snapped handcuffs to his wrists, binding them in front of him. He tugged at them experimentally, holding them up to his face to glare at the metal.

Crowley shoved a wad of fabric at Dean: his shirt and pants. Behind Crowley, Dean noticed a livid-looking Ellen and a red-faced Bobby. He frowned at them as he dressed, wondering what Crowely and Bela had on them to ensure their seething compliance.

“Put the gun down, Crowley,” Dean said, stepping into his boots. Crowley shrugged and lowered the pistol; the soldiers on either side of Sam tugged him roughly to his feet. Dean met Sam’s eyes and realized Sam could easily take the two of them out, even with his hands bound, but there were still rifles trained on them. A few soldiers they could handle easily, especially with Castiel’s help. But this many, there was no chance.

“So, what, you waited until everyone was enjoying our hosts’ wine, maybe a few gallons in, and then you decide you’re going to rob them blind? Some guest you are.” Crowley smiled at him.

“I’m a business man, Dean. We can all leave here fabulously wealthy, and no one has to die.”

“Bullshit. If we take the Heart, Atlantis will die. You will really condemn an entire civilization for a payday?”

“In a heartbeat, you fool. And you’re going to help me.” Crowley shoved a few pieces of paper at him; Dean realized they were written in High Atlantean. The image of the Heart he had seen on the mural featured prominently on the top page. “You’ve got homework to do.” Dean had never seen these pages before. 

Crowley stalked off down the path away from the lake. Dean and the others were forced to follow him, hemmed in by the soldiers. Dean wondered vaguely at what point Crowley had bought them off. Had he waited until they found the city? Or had they been in his employ all along? He heard a thunk behind him, the hollow sound of someone being hit in the head, followed by a low grunt.

“Cas?” he shouted, turning to see two guards dragging a dazed Castiel between them. “What the hell, Crowley?” Crowley glanced back at his guards, then shrugged. Dean tried to push his way back through the crowd to check on Castiel, but pair of soldiers grabbed him and shoved him back to the front.

“Eyes forward, fag,” one growled. Dean let rage boil under his skin, containing and compressing it until he could use it. He had made his situation far more dangerous by being caught with Castiel; Crowley had planned to use him, to manipulate him, but homophobia had turned him into the easiest of targets. Most of the soldiers would hate him genuinely now, not just because Crowley was paying them to. He promised himself he wouldn’t give them any more ammunition, even as he was ready to tear their heads off to get to Castiel. 

Dean realized he was terrified: the frightened hope he had in the water, that he and Castiel had something special that he didn’t want to lose, had morphed into raw terror as he realized their involvement might get Castiel killed. Crowley needed Dean, needed his help. But Castiel was expendable, particularly once Crowley had Dean’s compliance. And he would die anyways: if Dean didn’t help Crowley, he would kill Castiel. If he helped Crowley, he would kill the entire city.

Dean was struggling to see a way out of this situation.

* * *

Vines had worked their way through the small window of the palace’s sole jail cell. It seemed the city didn’t have any sort of crime rate to speak of, considering the disrepair of the small stone room. The wall with the door on it was built with narrow slits running from the floor to the ceiling, not unlike the metal gates used on jail cells at home, Dean mused. Crowley had drug him and Castiel back to the palace, before flinging Dean into this crumbling prison. Castiel had apparently been dragged off to his own chambers, locked up there. Sam and the rest of the crew were elsewhere, Dean didn’t know where, but he figured they were relatively safe considering how badly Crowley needed leverage to ensure Dean’s compliance.

With an entire city to control, and very limited resources to do it with, Dean was a bit surprised Crowley had managed to spare a guard for him at all. But the man standing outside his cell would not be standing for much longer. It had been a mistake to wait to stage the coup until most of the wine had been drunk: although it doubtless made it easier to take the Atlantean leadership hostage, it also meant that at least a quarter of the soldiers Crowley had been relying on were utterly shitfaced. That contingent included his guard, which Dean supposed was part of Crowley’s reasoning for assigning him this duty. But the wine was winning out: the man had already slumped to the floor, and was minutes from passing out completely.

Dean debated, while waiting, what he should do once he got out. He could not leave the city; that much was obvious. With Sammy held captive it was completely out of the question. And there were other things holding him here too. The rest of the crew. Unquenched curiosity about the city. The thought of what Crowley would do to the city if no one stopped him. And Castiel. Dean realized, as he weighed things in his mind, that Castiel was pretty close to the top of that list. He wasn’t willing to leave the angel if he could avoid it, and he certainly wasn’t going to leave him in danger like this. He didn’t have any idea how things were going to work out, but he and Castiel had unfinished business to attend.

The best feature of this cell, better than the mossy ledge he supposed was for sleeping, better than the hole in the corner he refused to think about, was that this cell had no actual lock. A simple bar laid across the door held Dean in. 

The guard’s head finally slumped to his chest, and Dean got to work. He tucked the pages Crowley had given him into his pocket. The slits in the stone wall were too narrow for his hands and the latch was too far for his knife to reach, but a tough, dried out piece of old vine cut from the wall reached easily. He slipped the latch out of place, as quietly as he could, before opening the door softly and double checking that the guard’s eyes were closed. He snuck quietly past and headed in the direction he had last seen Castiel being taken.

The palace was bigger than he had initially thought, but there were glyphs at the intersection of the main corridors directing him towards the royal chambers. They were crafted with reflective inlaid stones in High Atlantean, so their purpose had to be primarily ornamental, but it made sneaking around a strange building in the semi-dark a lot easier if one could read them.

Dean snuck quietly up to the next intersection. He had removed his boots, holding them in one hand, because his bare feet padded more softly on the cool stone underfoot. A guard had been posted outside Castiel’s room, but he was barely in better shape than Dean’s guard had been. Dean watched as the man swayed, wondering how to distract him from the door long enough to slip inside. The man continued shifting, however, and Dean realized that opportunity might be about to present itself. Sure enough, a minute later, the guard cursed under his breath and stumbled off down the hall, looking for a place to relieve himself.

Dean made a dash for Castiel’s door, slipping inside and palming the door closed behind him.

“Cas, it’s me!” He ducked, raising a defensive arm, as Castiel paused in swinging the enormous vase in his hands just in time.

“Dean!” Castiel set the vase down gingerly. “How did you get in here?”

“Your guard is drunk, and mine was drunker. It wasn’t that hard.”

“So we can get out?” Castiel asked, reaching for the door handle. Dean grabbed his wrist.

“I don’t think so, Cas. I think if we disappear, Crowley starts hurting or killing his hostages to get us back. I know I can’t abandon them to that.” The look on Castiel’s face told him that he could not either.

“So what do we do, then?” He asked. “These guns, they are really as dangerous as you say?”

“Yes,” Dean answered, “as dangerous as a sharp blade to the throat.” Castiel nodded, swallowing. “But I was thinking, about what I read on these pages.” He pulled out the illustrated pages Crowley had given him. “They aren’t very clear, and a lot of this seemed like it was just religious imagery at first but now I’m not so sure.”

 “What do you mean.” Castiel’s voice was flat, but his eyes were curious.

“It said ‘the Heart of Atlantis lies in the eyes of her leader.’ I thought that was just metaphorical, but the more I think about it, maybe it’s actually a clue to the location.”

“If we can figure out where the Heart is, we can use it to defeat Crowley.”

“No, Cas, no we can’t.” Dean sighed. “That’s another thing it says: basically, using the Heart as a weapon will cause ‘a great calamity.’ I’m starting to think the Heart might have had something to do with why the city sank.” Castiel’s eyes took on a faraway look, his brow furrowing.

“We were at war, before the city sank. It…it was causing my father a great deal of stress, because the war had been going on for a very long time and was consuming too many of our resources. Too many lives.” Castiel met Dean’s eyes, his expression fearful. “Do you think he tried to use the Heart as a weapon?” Castiel asked softly. “I can’t believe he would have ever done such a thing.” He paused, thinking. “Perhaps the Council…they were always fighting with each other, my father barely able to rein them in. It is possible one or more of them attempted to use it without his knowledge, thus condemning us all.”

“Is this Council still around?”

“More or less. A few members have been replaced. Most of us are long lived,” Castiel rolled his eyes as Dean raised a sarcastic eyebrow, “but we are not immortal. We have suffered a few bouts of great sickness throughout the years. Otherwise, eventually, we do die of old age.”

“Any way we could get to them? Maybe if we got our hands on the Heart, we could use it to get Crowley to let everyone go, and then, I don’t know, trick him somehow.”

“That can’t be the big plan. We need something better.” Castiel was frowning at Dean now.

“Yeah, well, usually I start with ‘don’t die’, and work from there. What are you thinking?”

“The Heart is a source of great power. Its role is to sustain and defend Atlantis. That much I know; that much, every Atlantean knows. I thought it was more of a metaphor than literal, but what you found on the mural tonight indicated that it does, literally, sustain the city.” Dean nodded. “So perhaps the second part of its role is real as well. Clearly we have learned that it cannot be used as an offensive weapon without ‘great calamity’, but what if we arrange it so that the Heart must defend Atlantis? What if we bring the threat to the Heart, and let it defend itself?”

“That’s risky, Cas,” Dean said, but he had to admit the plan had merit. Let Crowley walk right into a trap, destroyed by his own greed. The plan had the advantage of being simple, depending on the elements in play to simply act according to their natures. But it could also fail spectacularly. “We could lose the Heart altogether.” _You_ , Dean mentally corrected himself. Why had he said _we_? Castiel shook his head.

“I believe it will work.”

“It’s your city,” Dean acceded. He yawned, suddenly exhausted. “How long do we have until morning?”

“A while,” Castiel answered. He was satisfied with their plan, risky as it was. Now, though, they had to wait for morning. He held out his hand to Dean, eyes soft. “Come to bed, Dean.” 

Dean smiled. They might die tomorrow, after all: he wanted to enjoy whatever time he had left with Castiel. He took Castiel’s hand, but pulled on it, tugging Castiel closer. Their bodies collided softly, before Dean ducked his head slightly to kiss Castiel. Tasting Castiel’s mouth again, feeling the heat of their bodies together without water cooling them, he wondered how he had managed to be in Castiel’s bedroom this long without ripping his clothes off. “Bed,” Castiel murmured against his lips, pulling at Dean’s hips with his hands. When that only made Dean rub his hips against Castiel and kiss him harder, Castiel shoved at his shoulders until Dean let him break the kiss, smiling as he repeated himself. “Bed, now.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean could feel the desperation in the movements, as Castiel tried to communicate with his lips and hands what neither of them had expressed in words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another warning for discussion of homophobia.

Castiel’s bed was large, easily large enough for Dean to stretch out spread-eagle if he so pleased, and soft. It was pressed into a corner of the chamber, pillows piled against the two sides on the wall.

"I don’t know, Cas," Dean said, wondering why on earth he was talking as he lay back on the bed, "I just," Castiel kissed him, trying to shut him up. But the thoughts still swam through Dean's mind: was he a bad person for enjoying himself (enjoying Castiel) while the others ( _Sammy!_ ) were in danger?

“Dean, we can't change their situation tonight and hope for our plan to work tomorrow.” Castiel was straddling Dean’s lap, maddeningly keeping his hips just out of reach of the friction Dean wanted. He ran his fingers through Dean's hair, eyes studying Dean closely.

“I guess.” Castiel shifted, tugged at Dean’s shirt, frowning at where he had tucked it into his pants. “But,”

“No." Castiel pressed the tips of his fingers against Dean's lips, eyelids fluttering when Dean sucked the tip of one into his mouth. The faint glow of his circlet lent an otherworldly appearance to Castiel's features. When he found his voice again, it was rougher. "We have a plan. Now we must have patience, and wait for the right moment to execute it."

“I guess you know a lot about patience,” Dean said, eyes playful as he traced a finger along the edge of Castiel’s wrapped skirt. Castiel grinned widely. 

“Maybe I should teach you," Castiel growled, letting his weight finally settle over Dean and leaning forward to capture Dean's answering moan in an open-mouthed kiss.

Castiel was relentless, driving Dean to the edge and drawing him back, somehow maintaining control as Dean felt his mind slip free of its bonds and finally, finally, Castiel gave him that last stroke that he needed and he was coming, the world fading to blinding brightness as he shook apart in Castiel' strong arms.

Afterwards, sated and sleepy, Dean let Castiel pull his back against his chest. He relaxed into the warmth, but after a minute he realized how tightly Castiel was holding him.

"Hey, Cas," he said softly, stroking a palm along Castiel's forearm, "you okay?" He could feel Castiel's chest expand and contract as he took a deep breath and let it out, his breath hot between Dean's shoulder blades. Dean pried Castiel's hands loose enough that he could turn to face him. Blue eyes regarded him worriedly. Castiel was thorough, Dean had to admit, and attentive and stunningly responsive as a lover. But he was hiding from Dean now, and that wasn't going to work.

"I'm," Castiel started, leaving his mouth open for a moment before closing it again. He pulled Dean closer, kissing him. Dean could feel the desperation in the movements, as Castiel tried to communicate with his lips and hands what neither of them had expressed in words. It made his chest ache. They didn't have much time left. 

"Talk to me," Dean said, running his fingers through Castiel's sex-rumpled hair, and Castiel did.

* * *

Dean sighed as he felt his mind begin to stir towards wakefulness. There was a warm weight against his side, scratchy stubble against his collarbone and Castiel snuffling softly against his neck. 

Dean stayed still, not wanting to wake Castiel and ruin this quiet moment. Softly, he stroked his fingers through Castiel's hair.

"Good, you're awake," Castiel rumbled softly. 

"I thought you were still asleep," Dean replied, laughing a little. Castiel buried his head further into Dean's shoulder, nuzzling closer for a moment before pulling back so he could meet Dean's eyes. 

The light outside in the cavern was a dull glow, as if just waking up from the night. 

"How long do you think we have?" Castiel asked. 

"I'm not sure," Dean replied. "Maybe until it becomes fully light." 

"Crowley and his people seemed angry last night." Dean huffed a laugh: they had been angry, all right. "I mean angry about us," Castiel elaborated. "That we were together. Is it because we are from different places? I did not understand what their words meant." 

Dean sighed heavily. "No, Cas, they were pissed because we're both dudes." Castiel squinted at him. "We're both men, and they saw us…together. Kissing. Where I'm from, a lot of people have a problem with that." 

"Oh," Castiel replied, his brow furrowing as he considered this information. "The gender of one's sexual partners matters to them?" 

"A lot. Anything outside of one man and one woman tends to ruffle feathers." Dean tried to focus on the confused look on Castiel's face, and not the memories that threatened to surface. Crowley's small-mindedness was a blade that could be turned back to hurt its wielder. Better to focus on that.

"That's absurd," Castiel said, after a moment of consideration. 

Dean shrugged the shoulder his weight wasn't resting on. "I'm inclined to agree with you there. But your people - they don't care?" 

"We are utterly indifferent to sexual orientation," Castiel replied. "I suppose being several thousand years old lends some perspective, though."

"Probably." 

"Will Crowley be angry if he finds you in bed with me?" Castiel traced a finger down the length of Dean's arm. Dean laughed: he was tempted to start something with Castiel, give Crowley a real eyeful. But there was putting someone off-kilter, and there was getting yourself beaten to death. 

"Definitely," Dean replied. Although come to think of it, an off-kilter Crowley could serve his purposes nicely. "But maybe him finding me in here wouldn't be such a bad thing."

"He would realize you'd escaped your imprisonment."

"Yeah, but I didn't run away. He'll find me easily enough. And here's the stupid thing: if he finds me here with you, he'll probably actually think of it as a weakness."

"So he might underestimate you or your intelligence." Castiel was becoming more and more convinced that Crowley intellectually…flawed.

"Basically."

"It could work to our advantage."

"Yeah. But probably only if we're dressed when they show up." Dean stroked his fingers through Castiel's hair again, cupping his jaw and kissing him gently. Castiel growled lowly, pulling Dean's body to his. 

"I don't want to get out of bed," he said, tangling their legs together. 

"Me either," Dean replied. But their time was up.


End file.
